Pretty Woman
by Ms. ST
Summary: Twelve drabbles related to the song "Pretty Women". One woman being Mrs. Lovett, and the man who watches her, Mr. Todd. Not much Sweenette, if any at all. Rated K for some reason. New chapter up!
1. Sipping Coffee

**A/N:** _There is slight Toddett, or whatever you kids are calling it these days. It's nothing more than Mr. Todd watching Mrs. Lovett. His heart doesn't flutter when he sees her (I'm surprised the thing even beats); his hands don't get shaky and his knees don't get weak. I just thought Sweeney needed some inspiration for the song because Benjamin Barker and his memory of Lucy are far gone and drowned with the revenge Sweeney engulfed his mind in. I'm sorry Toddett fans._

**Disclaimer:** _Yeah, yeah. Rights go to Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler. Or is it Christopher Bond? Hm._

* * *

It was early morning, right before the sun rose over the filthy buildings of London, right before the bakers and grocers and merchants contaminated the streets with their hard labor and their pathetic lives. Not even the critters that inhabited the narrow ally ways rouse from their slumber, still bundled in their nest and bins and boxes. No, it was still dark when the demon woke, and when he opened his lids and gave a great yawn, it felt an odd sensation – he wasn't the only one awake.

He got up from his chair (for that was where he slept; Sweeney never slept for more than three hours, so what was the point for a bed?) and opened the door to the landing outside. He looked around, but no one was there. He glanced down at the tables and chairs below, but because the sun was not around to give light, there was no use to seeing if anyone was sitting there. After closing the door behind him, Sweeney marched downstairs and opened the door to the bakery. No one occupied the seats near the frosted window, nor were there anyone behind the baking counter. Odd. He could have sworn someone was here. He could feel the very presence prick the back of his brain and graze the nape of his neck. Could it be a ghost?

Sweeney Todd shook his head, clearing his mind of such silly thoughts. He clenched his fist and stepped through to the parlor. There. The culprit. The person who was awake with him, standing near the window with a cup in her hand and an arm around her middle. She didn't seem to notice he was there, and so he watched from a distance. She held the cup to her plump lips and sipped, and she then held it loosely to her chest and sighed, fogging the glass in front of her. Her ring of curls fell to the curve of her back, bouncing with each movement, no matter how minute they were. When she switched her weight to the other foot, her white nightgown shifted with her, the delicate lace swirling around at her feet. As she turned around, with the edge of the cup near her lips, she looked up from her coffee and, startled, jumped back and dropped the glass to the floor, shattering it to pieces and splashing the brown liquid onto the edge of her nightdress.

Mrs. Lovett held a hand to her bosom, trying to catch her breath and her composure. She stared at the broken glass and the puddle of coffee and then to Sweeney Todd. The barber stood still and looked at the scene at the baker's feet and then to Mrs. Lovett.

"You certainly know how to scare a woman, Mr. T," said Mrs. Lovett before cautiously stepping over the glass. She walked into the bakery and snatched two towels from the counter, came back into the parlor, and knelt down. She then carefully picked up the shards of glass and placed them onto one of the towels, and with the other, she dapped at the coffee.

"What are you doing up so early?" asked the barber as Mrs. Lovett threw away the broken cup.

"Dunno," replied the baker with a shrug and a sigh. She tossed the wet towel into one of her cooking bowls and leaned against her hand on the edge of the counter. "Guess something woke me up. I don't particularly remember havin' a dream that could have disturbed me in my sleep. The birds aren't even out yet, it's so dark.

"Oh, well," she shrugged. "Maybe the Lord wants me to get to work early. Maybe we're havin' a big crowd today."

"Yeah," Sweeney mumbled. "Maybe."


	2. Dancing

Sweeney Todd was downstairs – a rare occurrence – leaning against the counter with his arms tightly crossed against his chest. He was growing frustrated because Mrs. Lovett had promised him his lunch at one, and it was already nearing 1:15. He had come down stairs at five minutes after one to find that Mrs. Lovett wasn't there holding out a tray of cucumber sandwiches and a cup of tea. His stomach growled and ached for food, but of course the Demon Barber of Fleet Street would never prepare his own meal. And he wouldn't go looking for her. His stubborn nature simply wouldn't allow it. So he stood there, bottom against the counter, arms crossed, and an angry expression that would scare away any customer who walked through the door.

Sweeney must have stayed in the kitchen for a good ten minutes before muffled taps came from above. The noise nearly sent a spatula flying in the air when the barber's hand slammed against the tile of the countertop. He glanced up at the grimy ceiling and glowered at the thought that Mrs. Lovett snuck into his room while he was down here waiting to be fed. And what was she doing up there? Was she circling his chair?

Pushing himself away from the counter, Sweeney Todd snarled and slammed the bakery door behind him. He marched upstairs, his hand firmly clutching the railing, and when he stepped onto the landing and neared the door, he stopped himself from opening it. His fingers hovered over the knob as he peered through the little window, and inside he watched Mrs. Lovett waltz around his barber chair. Her hands were placed in the hand and on the shoulder of an invisible man as she twirled and stepped with awkward movements. She was never a great dancer, but her carefree and free spirited lifestyle prevented her from concerning about whether or not she could do a waltz correctly.

She spun herself around, laughing and smiling to herself, never once noticing that Sweeney was observing her through the tiny window. Her lips moved, and this was no surprise to the barber because he always heard Mrs. Lovett talking to herself. She was never silent, no matter how much he wished her to be.

Mrs. Lovett was near the window of his room where she stopped in mid-spin. Her eyes widened, her hands were still in the air, and she opened and closed her mouth, appearing to be a fish out of water. Sweeney slowly opened the door and stepped inside, and Nellie hurriedly dashed to the dresser to fetch his lunch.

"I hope you didn't see that," she said bashfully as she handed him the tray of food.

"Why weren't you downstairs?" asked Sweeney, refusing to take the food until he got an answer.

"Well, Toby was askin' if I needed anythin' from the market," she explained, "and I did, so I told him what I needed. After that, I started fixin' your lunch, and it was already past one when I finished. So I went up stairs through the parlor, but I didn't see you there. I waited, and I waited, but you never came, so I guess I got… Bored."

Sweeney grumbled something under his breath as he took the tray from Mrs. Lovett, and he set it down on his chair and looked out the window with his arms over his chest. Behind him Nellie was trying her best to swallow down a laugh, but she failed at the attempt when a small giggle escaped her lips. Sweeney turned his head over his shoulder and glared at the baker. She immediately fell silent.

"What's so funny?' he demanded.

"Err… You, uh…" Nellie covered her mouth with her hands and pointed at Sweeney's pants. "You have flour on your bottom, love."

The barber craned his neck to see that Nellie was right. A big splotch of white powered his butt – the result from leaning against a baking counter. He patted at his pants, white clouds of flour floating through the air along with Nellie Lovett's laughter as she exited the room.


	3. Sitting in a Window

Sitting on the bench near the window, Nellie Lovett gazed outside and watched the small snowflakes flutter down into large mounds of snow. She was mesmerized by the dance of ice crystals, and she wondered what it would be like to be one.

"Mr. T?" she called to him without looking over her shoulder, but she knew he was there watching the snow with her.

She heard him grunt, the sign that he was, in fact, present, and that she could continue.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a snowflake?" she asked as she crossed her arms on the windowsill and nestled her chin in the crook of her arm.

"No." And she knew that. She didn't think he thought of much nowadays, not with his obsession with revenge being his priority and whatnot.

"I have," she admitted. "I mean, they're so small, but together they make hills of themselves. They can become a snowball or a snowman. They can be stepped on. They can melt and become water. Put them together, they can be a home. They can be a fur coat for a bare tree. And they're so very much like humans because every snowflake is unique like they have they own identity. To have a birds eye-view of the world, and slowly drift down to where ever the wind takes them. They may have a short life lived, but the minutes they do live it, I'm sure it's exhilaratin'.

"That's what I th–" When she turned her head over her shoulder, she saw that she was alone. She couldn't help but feel a small pang in her chest, but she shrugged it off and sighed, and continued to stare out of the window.


	4. Standing on the Stairs

Sweeney hid his head behind the morning newspaper, stretching out across the lounge chair in front of the fire place. He wasn't particularly interested in what the news was that morning, but it gave him something to do while Mrs. Lovett modeled her new dress around.

Business was going well, and money was coming in. Mrs. Lovett told Mr. Todd that there were a few extra pounds lying around, and so she spoiled herself and bought a new dress. Desperately she tried to catch the attention of the barber by swirling around in his path or reaching over him when he sat in the bakery to fetch a plate of food Toby failed to clean up. She would call out his name, in hope he would look up, but when he didn't pick up his head, she would simply walk out of the room they were in and sulk.

So it did not come to Mr. Todd's surprise when Mrs. Lovett called out his name from the stairs that morning. The barber sighed heavily, flicked his wrist so that the newspaper would smooth out, and said:

"What?"

"Haven't you noticed something different about me?" she asked eagerly.

"I haven't," Sweeney lied, refusing to look over his shoulder.

"Then don't you want to?"

"Want to _what_?" Mr. Todd was becoming frustrated by Mrs. Lovett's persistence.

"Notice something different about me," the baker huffed.

With a rolling of the eyes and a low growl of defeat, Mr. Todd poked his head from behind the back of the lounge chair. He saw Mrs. Lovett with her hands on her hips and a confident smirk on her lips. The dress certainly wasn't what Nellie usually wore – it was white and blue. The skirt was striped, but the edge was a zigzag pattern. The corset was a navy blue, and the sheer sleeves were white. The neckline was high, brushing against her collarbone, and a tiny bow made of thin string was tied in the middle.

Mr. Todd turned back around and stared at the newspaper, muttering, "It looks nice."

But it was when Sweeney cleared his throat that made Nellie Lovett grin happily as she walked down the stairs, through the parlor, and into the kitchen, where she sat on the bench near the window and hummed a merry tune to herself.


	5. Silhouetted

The only source of light in the small, gloomy parlor was that of the fire crackling merrily as Mrs. Lovett poked at the wood. The shadows of the furniture flickered with the flames, growing longer or shorter depending on how large the fire was. Everything had an eerie glow, giving even the "cheery wallpaper" a creepy impression. Gray clouds blocked the moon's light from seeping in the parlor, but because of the high winds, every so often a sliver of light floods through the window.

Sweeney Todd stood on the threshold between the parlor and the bakery, gazing at the back of Mrs. Lovett. Her black silhouette shifted on the floor as she drew her knees from underneath her. The corset she wore enhanced the curve of her hips into a perfect hourglass shape. Her broad shoulders hunched over as she teased the fire, and her long, delicate neck twisted as she turned her head over her shoulder. Her profile was very bird-like with her slightly pointed chin, hooked nose, and long forehead, but her curvy lips pouted out as if they were kissing the air.

"Mr. T, we need more wood," said Mrs. Lovett as she poked the piece of lumber.

"So get Toby to get some in the morning," Sweeney mumbled.

"The poor love has enough things to do 'round here," she replied. "Besides, I don't want him foolin' 'round with an ax."

"Guess we'll have to freeze."

Mrs. Lovett was still for a moment, and it looked as if she wasn't breathing. But suddenly she stood up and rested the instrument to poke the log against the fireplace, bid Sweeney goodnight, and disappeared into her room. Mr. Todd stepped to the warm flames and sat down in front of the fire where Nellie had previously been. Picking up the instrument, he began to poke at the log until the early morning when the fire was burnt out.


	6. Blowing Out Their Candles

A daily shower blanketed the city of London with its gloom and intentional interruption. Water droplets tapped lightly against filthy windows, washing away the residue of grim and dirt. The city, as a whole, was drenched; its buildings and those residents who dared to go out looked more sadistic and depressed than when they were masked with the shadows from the gray smoke above. The only way of knowing that rain would begin was by the useful clash of thunder; the threatening clouds and the hazardous smoke meshed together to morph into one large cloak, enveloping the city.

The mood in the pie shop on the corner of Fleet Street, however, never changed, regardless of the weather. Bounded by his own revenge, Sweeney Todd's irrational and unpredictable behavior and his cynical, apathetic attitude brought down the spirit of those who wish to be close to him. Smiles had to be concealed, laughter had to be hushed, and those who were brave enough to express their pleasure or those who did not hide their grin fast enough were unpleasantly greeted with the most foul, the most malicious, and the most severe scowl that one would painfully feel their soul being ripped apart from their skin. The pie shop was a depressing household, equipped with equally depressing secrets and stories.

Several candles were placed in a semi-circle around a mound of dough. Pale hands, dusted in flour, squeezed and pressed the unbaked bread until it was well-kneaded. Mrs. Lovett hummed softly to herself as she dropped the ball of dough into a bowl and began to season a lump of meat. The cooking routine became second nature, a daily procedure, and Nellie was not going to let a little rain stop her from preparing pies. Rain was erratic, and it could stop just as quickly as it could start. And with that in mind, the baker needed to be ready for those hungry costumers.

From the corner of the room, where darkness lingered, Sweeney Todd sulked with a glass of gin clenched in his rough hand. He tapped his fingers individually on the surface of the table, lost in his thoughts that Mrs. Lovett knew were about taking his precious vengeance on his nemesis Judge Turpin. The baker often felt the urge to ask the barber what he had loved most about his beloved Lucy, but the fear of hearing his voice change from gruff rumbles to a tone that was soaked in endearment prevented her from doing so.

She continued to hum lowly to herself as she grabbed a fist-full of meat and stuffed it into a small pie. Grabbing a knife, she cut out a piece of dough, then flattened it with her rolling pin and covered the pie. Nellie stopped her humming to scratch her chin, and, from a distance, a very faint noise came from where Mr. Todd sat.

Squinting her eyes to see if what she heard was really coming from Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lovett asked, "Mr. T, is that you hummin'?"

The noise stopped abruptly, and Sweeney stopped tapping his fingers on the table. Clearing his throat, he plainly said, "Yes."

Never before had the baker heard Sweeney Todd hum nor make any kind of noise, save for short replies and grunts. She was stunned, frozen in her spot behind the baking counter with her fingers dug deep in the dough. Distractedly she held the knife and sliced into the dough, right where the tip of her finger was. She yelped and pulled her finger in front of her face to see skin hanging from a piece of flesh and blood ooze out, slowly sliding down the length of her finger.

Hurriedly she grabbed for a rag, never once taking her eyes off of her wound, and pressed against something solid and hard. She turned around to see Mr. Todd staring impassively at her finger, his frown deepening with thought. He passed behind Mrs. Lovett, close enough to feel the heat from his body, and gingerly touched her elbow. His fingers grazed her skin as they slipped up her arm, stopping at her small wrist. Breathing becoming shallow and eyes bulging, Mrs. Lovett's heart pounded rapidly in her chest. Her cheeks colored an attractive shade of pink, and her knees nearly folded beneath her. Trying to gain control of her emotions, the baker gulped down a block of savage lust that was wedged in her throat as soon as he touched her. Nothing but the most impure thoughts raced through her mind, seeing Sweeney Todd unravel all of her fingers so that they all extended out. He eyed every finger thoughtfully, great concentration etched deep in his features, and, without warning, he pressed Mrs. Lovett's injured finger to his lips and lightly kissed the tip.

* * *

Thunder boomed in the background, but that did not interrupt Sweeney from reading the newspaper. Oddly enough, he was actually reading the words, not just skimming through the pages to make like he was doing something productive. He read about the latest hanging of a small boy for stealing a loaf of bread. The cruel politicians were yet again having a debate, but what they were arguing about did not hold the attention of Sweeney. Propaganda and yellow-journalism were splashed across the pages of the newspaper, but the constant lies were what amused Mr. Todd.

He was stretched out on the lounge chair near the fireplace, the musty smell of rain coming through the chimney, and the steady beat of rain upon the window. From behind his newspaper, he heard a gasp come from Mrs. Lovett. He bent the edge of the paper down to see his landlady wide awake with enlarged eyes and gaping mouth. She looked bewildered and confused, but she shook her head and stood up before he could question the expression.

"I think it's time for me to go to bed," she said vaguely.

Walking over to a small table at a corner opposite of Sweeney, she bent down and blew out the candle that provided light for his reading. She walked out of the room, forgetting to say good night like she usually did, and when he heard the soft sound of her door closing, he remembered that Mrs. Lovett slept for nearly the whole afternoon, for the rain had prevented people to step outside, and that there was no possible way she could still be tired.

* * *

**A/N:** Apologies! Apologies! I know I haven't updated for a while, but school... Well, it's torture. Anyway, there you go Sweenett fans. Are you happy? Yes, a dream, but it's still fluff! That was the only way I would have Mr. Todd affectionately touch Mrs. Lovett. Sorryyyy. :)


End file.
